The Golden Oath
The rain hits the pavement in a steady, gray drumbeat. You stand under the awning of the old clock tower. Your hands are in your pockets. Your heart is a stone in your chest. You are here because the list says you must be here. The list is a scrap of paper. It is stained with coffee and grease. It names five men. You are one of them. The air smells of wet asphalt and exhaust. The city is a...
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